


It's a Hell of a Town (The New York City Serenade)

by theladyscribe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-12
Updated: 2009-09-12
Packaged: 2017-11-01 20:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/360679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyscribe/pseuds/theladyscribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A car horn blares behind Dean, making him jump, and in the distance, he can hear the whine of police sirens. Goddamn, he hates New York City.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Hell of a Town (The New York City Serenade)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Goddess Priestess Acolyte Seer](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/7263) by emmademarais. 



> As always, many thanks to Joans23 and Elaeazeph for the beta work and hand-holding.

Dean hates witches a hell of a lot more than he hates this fucking city, so he stays with the car while Sam goes in search of his ninny-hagar whatever. He leans against the still-warm engine and glares up at the high-rises, as if he can push them apart and take his fill of the sky if he stares hard enough. The noise and the smell and the _crowd_ are stifling, and even though they've only been inside the city for a couple hours (most of it spent sitting in traffic), he's already itching to track down this monster and get back on the highway.

Why this thing is apparently incapable of holing up in an abandoned factory on the outer edges of the outskirts instead of right in the thick of downtown New York is beyond him. It'd make Dean's life a hell of a lot easier, and maybe then he wouldn't be standing outside of a fucking coven _in the middle of New York_ waiting for his brother to come back with the magical martini mix that's gonna kill the damn thing.

A car horn blares behind him, making him jump, and in the distance, he can hear the whine of police sirens.

Goddamn, he hates New York City.

He takes a deep breath and immediately regrets it. They're on a block that's apparently the meeting point of Chinatown and Little Italy and the combined smells of tomato sauce and dim sum and the stinking, rotten garbage next to the curb clog his nostrils, making him gag. Everything in this place tastes like smog. Even though the air is definitely cleaner than the one time Dean drove through L.A., it's still cloying, choking, far worse than burning bones will ever be.

He sighs heavily, tries to take shallower breaths, and decides to people-watch, see if there's anybody who hates this place as much as he does.

There's a tiny park across the street - really little more than a basketball court and a swing set. He can hear the din of carefree children shrieking their delight in the dying days of summer across the tar of the blacktop, and he hopes they'll still be there tomorrow, still unaware of the monster under the bed.

People bustle along the sidewalk, barely sparing him a glance as they rush to wherever they're headed. Men in business attire talk into their Bluetooths (Blueteeth?), spouting numbers and words that hit Dean like a foreign language. He sees a woman in a tight business suit (green shirt, snug grey jacket, matching skirt that accents the curve of her hips) stumble on a section of uneven pavement; he moves to help her but she's already righted herself and halfway down the block before he's even launched himself from the car.

People move too quickly here.

He settles back against the car and looks up at the coven headquarters. If you didn't know what you were looking at, you'd never guess it was the hideout for (what he assumes is) a den of - not necessarily iniquity, but at the very least, extreme annoyance and at worst, well, yeah, probably iniquity. Or evil. Something.

Anyway, the place looks like it's been shoved haphazardly between Ming's Chinese Empourium (Fine Purveyor of Exsotic Arts, good spelling not included) and Don Giovanni's Pizzeria, which currently has customers waiting out the door to be seated. If it weren't next door to a fucking coven, Dean would suggest it to Sam for dinner.

The coven's building, Dean figures, is probably one of those places that's a hell of a lot bigger on the inside than it is on the outside. Like the phonebooth in _Bill and Ted's_ , only a lot more malicious and incapable of providing the school project to end all school projects. It looks innocent enough at first glance - probably the reason why nobody else around here even seems to notice the place. It's old, older than the rest of the buildings on the block, he would guess, if the elaborate arches of the windows and doorway are anything to go by. Then again, it could be faked oldness, a glamour, or even just somebody who's really good with plaster and paint. Either way, it does kind of look a little mysterious, though it'd probably be pretty easy to miss if you walk past it every day (or you're blinded by the overly cheery red of Ming's Empourium).

It doesn't exude witchery, that's for sure. If Sam's vision hadn't been so specific as to where the place was located, they probably would have driven right past it and kept on going until they hit the ocean or the river or whichever body of water is in this direction.

That's the other thing he hates about big cities: Dean's pretty damn good at getting his bearings most of the time, but here? His sense of direction is shot to hell, turned around so he doesn't know which way is up or down. Plop him down in the middle of Nowheresville's main drag, and he can get you back to the highway (any highway), no sweat. Put him in the center of Time's Square, it might take him a year to figure his way out.

A car pulls into a spot a couple down from where Dean is, bass thumping out a rhythm that could be anything. Dean watches the couple in the front seat shove their tongues down each other's throats before the - oh, that's _not_ a girl - steps out of the passenger side. The guy gives Dean an appreciative once-over, and he turns away, ears pink at the attention.

He glances down at his watch and realizes he's been waiting for almost an hour. Sam's been gone for a lot longer than Dean thinks he should be. He glares at the coven's building again, weighing the likelihood of Sam being sacrificed by the witches against the likelihood that his car will get jacked if he leaves it. He's about to brave the coven when Sam steps out the door.

"It's about time," Dean snaps as Sam hurries toward him.

Sam rolls his eyes, and Dean pretends not to notice as they get in the car. "I got the ninhagar."

"Thank fucking Christ. Can we get out of here now?"


End file.
